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Poetry By
  C.B. Anderson


Published on: 12/4/2015
While Ink Dries

Late in the afternoon, especially on Fridays,
The amanuensis hums a secular tune
And, equipped with a damp rag and a taper, tidies
Up in the Master's workspace where his notes are strewn

Along with pages of a weighty manuscript
More than five years in the writing. A corn-straw broom
Stands uselessly in a corner, its bristles tipped
With clots of the settled dust that the entire room

Is covered in— to sweep would send it all flying
Everywhere and compromise the good work they'd done
Earlier that day, which isn't dry yet. Lying
Next to the inkstand is a long letter, begun

But never finished, addressed to the Late Duchess,
Who had commissioned a complete written account
Of her family history, willing to spend as much as
It took to get it done, no matter the amount.

The poor old wealthy dowager suddenly died—
In her sleep, may God rest her soul— with only six
Or seven months-worth left of funding set aside
To sustain the ongoing project. Politics

Had no part to play in the arrangement, for she
Was all but witless and wholly single-minded
Regarding the tome she hoped was going to be
Her abiding legacy— paying by the line did

Not trouble her at all. But then, since the title
Had been passed down to one of her distant cousins
For whom accounts of his forebears were of no vital
Importance, the Master was forced to ponder dozens

Of schemes to secure and extend the generous terms
Of his long-standing employment. It was not a thing—
Though necessary— to be proud of, for the grim worms
Had barely begun their feasting. In order to bring

About a desirable change of heart and mind,
The two of them, scholar and scribe, opened a Bible
At last, in hope that they would be able to find
Guidance there on methods for arousing tribal

Conceits. Credit is due the amanuensis,
Who bypassed the entirety of Matthew, Mark and Luke
And brought a dissolute parvenu to his senses
By reciting a passage from John for the new Duke:

In the beginning was the Word... and the Word was God.
Struck by the power a word holds, he gave them the nod.

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